The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3061 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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Liz stayed until about four when she said she had to get back to feed her dinosaur. Trish immediately fell about laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked my almost hysterical daughter.

“The dinosaurs have been extinct for a hundred million years.”

“Not all of them.”

“Yes they are.”

“Mine isn’t.”

“What is it, a triceratops?” joked my daughter.

“No, a parakeet.”

“That’s not a dinosaur, that’s a bird—duh.”

“Birds are direct descendants of the dinosaurs—ask your mum.”

Which was the reason why we were having a long-winded discussion about animals that died out a hundred and sixty million years ago.

“But dinosaurs were all scaly.”

“No they weren’t, sweetheart, some had hairs and some had feathers. If you look at the legs of most birds they are scaly, showing their ancestry as reptilian a long time ago.”

“But birds are warm blooded.”

“They think some dinosaurs were too. When the asteroid that impacted in the Gulf of Mexico and caused the nuclear winter which killed off the dinosaurs, the dinosaurs were diversifying quite a lot and getting smaller.”

“They’d need to be, couldn’t see Diplodocus getting off the ground...”

“Or Tyrannosaurus,” added Livvie, “not flapping those little arms, be lucky if he could reach his pockets.”

They all laughed at her silliness, “Maybe he was a Scottish dinosaur?” asked Trish, then she blushed as she realised Gramps had overheard it.

“Wha’s a Scottish dinosaur?”

“Um, Tyrannosaurus MacRex,” offered Livvie in a demonstration of quick thinking.

Tom gave her a short, narrow eyed stare. “Richt, I thocht ye we’re takin’ aboot me. If ye’re no, that’s okay.” He patted her on the shoulder and went into the kitchen.

“Phew, that was close,” said Hannah.

“You’re not kidding,” agreed Livvie.

“Yeah, thanks, Liv,” said the offending sister.

“’S’okay. Let’s get back to my Wii.” Off they trouped, back to the lounge.

“What d’ya think of her?” asked Simon as I switched the kettle on.

“I like her and more importantly, the girls do.”

“She seemed quite nice, have you asked them?”

“No, but the way she interacted with them shows she liked them and they liked her.”

“How can you tell? I couldn’t.”

“You were too busy trying to peer into her cleavage.”

“Me?” he gasped, “I’m mortified that you should think that.”

“I have a photo on my camera-phone to prove it.”

“You what?”

“Are you going deaf, darling, you seem to be repeating everything I say.”

“Repeating everything you say?” Now he was taking the piss and to prove it.

“I think we need to take some time off during half term to be with the kids.”

“That’s all right for you, I have meetings booked every day for weeks.” Told you.

“But, Si we need to spend some time with them, as a family together.”

“What’s this then?” he waved his arms about presumably to mean the house. “Except they’d rather play with an electronic game than be with either of us.”

“You could always go and be with them,” I suggested even though I knew it would fall upon stony ground.

“Last time I did, I hurt my back and my knee.” This was true, he fell over a cushion trying to return a shot like Andy Murray does, with a couple of exceptions—Murray is taller and fitter and has some talent with a tennis racquet, Simon doesn’t. Even I beat him and I’m next to useless with hand eye coordinated sports. I mean on a bike I can see where I’m going and use the brakes or change gear—the latter can be dangerous, especially if you have to pull your shirt off over your head, you can’t see where you’re going—change gear? Never mind, though even Simon would have got that one.

We drank out teas and he went out for a stroll in the garden. It was incredibly mild for late October so I hoped we’d have some dormice when we did the check. As if picking up on my thoughts Trish came out into the kitchen.

“Mummy, you know Liz?”

“Liz Fairey?”

“Yes,” she said snorting, “that Liz. She said she’d never seen a dormouse—could she like, come with us dormousing on Wednesday?”

“Who’s going to look after the others?”

“Jacquie said she was here an’ if Hannah and Meems help her, they’ll cope.”

“I don’t know, I’m paying her quite a lot of money to look after you not go dormouse surveying.”

“We thought you’d be too mean to let her, oh well, I tried.”

“Just a moment, young lady—what d’you mean by too mean to let her?”

“What I said, you’re too mean to let her come with us because it costs you money. You said that dormice were beyond cost and everyone should have chance to see one.”

I had a feeling I’d just been outmanoeuvred again by someone a third of my age.

“You’ll have to ask her if she has walking boots and some thick trousers to wear.”

“Oh I did, she has, shall I tell her to bring them on Wednesday?” She ran off giggling, little monkey. The problem is, I really do believe that if everybody had a chance to see or possibly even handle a dormouse, they’d see the point of conservation immediately. Dormice are so cute only the hardest heart could fail to be won over by them, and that’s without them trying. Just imagine what life would be like if they were as clever as cats, they’d be wrapping us round their little fingers—I say fingers because their front paws are like miniature hands and they are quite dextrous in the way they hold nuts or other food items.

I recall Spike being in the run, this is a quite big cage thing, well behind glass rather than bars—they’re dormice, bars would be useless—and she was climbing about in the bushes we have in there when a large fly somehow got in and after buzzing around for a couple of minutes, it settled down on a leaf. Somehow, Spike jumped sideways and grabbed the fly with one paw while grabbing a branch with the other front paw and one of her hind feet. Then she sat there and ate the fly while it was still trying to buzz—it didn’t try for long. Mind you she used to enjoy sucking out the guts in mealworms after biting their heads off. Yeah, so cute—monsters.

About fifteen minutes later the phone rang and there being no one about to answer it, I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Cathy, it’s Liz Fairey. Look, Trish just invited me to come dormousing with you. Dormousing? Is that a verb?”

“It is among dormousers.”

“Right—what?” she chuckled down the phone. “Look, I’m not being paid to come on safari with you, am I?”

“And you need the money, right?”

“I’m afraid that’s the bottom line, sorry to say it, so I’ll come to the house and amuse those who don’t go with you.”

“I’m willing to pay you to come on safari with us, Trish said you wanted to see a dormouse.”

“Yeah but...”

“No buts, I can’t guarantee we’ll see any but it’s a fair bet that we will. So bring some old clothes with thickish trousers and some boots. The trousers are to protect against brambles and other antisocial plants and the very sociable ticks.”

“Ticks—there are ticks there?”

“Probably, I’ve never had a problem with them but occasionally people do.”

“Don’t they spread Lyme disease?”

“If they’re infected they certainly can.”

“Can I let you know—about the safari, I mean?”

“Of course.”

With that she rang off.